


Shackled In My Embrace (I've Got You)

by burnthebrightlights



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 1. Scene feat. semi-intense self doubt, 2. Scene feat. unintentional self-infliction of pain, Hopefully nothing triggering but two minor warnings in case, M/M, Nick as Nick, bookkeeper!louis, florist!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 19:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnthebrightlights/pseuds/burnthebrightlights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis was content with his books and his tea, until he met a curly haired lad with a love for flowers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shackled In My Embrace (I've Got You)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pinkladyalex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkladyalex/gifts).



> Written for the prompt: AU in which Louis owns a bookstore that doubles as his house, and Harry buys the property next to the bookstore to open a flower shop. Harry is already dating Nick, but Louis intends to change that. (No cheating please).
> 
> I really hope this is satisfactory. It's been so long since I wrote something I was happy to publish. :)
> 
> Title from: Latch by Disclosure (feat. Sam Smith)

Work had been longer than usual for Louis today. The rain outside had kept customers away for the most part, save for the one girl who had come in around lunch-time, browsed for two hours, and left without making a purchase. All he had been able to think about was closing shop and heading to his flat upstairs where he could cosy up with a novel and a cuppa by the fireplace. Luckily for Louis, his long day was coming to an end. He meandered around the store, dusting off shelves and re-stacking perfectly stacked books just for something extra to do. He had locked the door and was shutting the blinds, staring aimlessly at the black clouds covering the London skies, when a strange movement caught his eye.

_What an idiot_ , he thought as he observed a tall man struggling with boxes up the stairs of the abandoned building next door. Louis sighed with weariness as he shut the blinds and turned towards the stairs. He’d barely set foot on the first step when a crash sounded outside. He glimpsed through the blinds, then promptly unlocked the front door and dashed out.

 

Racing to the abandoned building next door, Louis was brought up short by a pair of long, thin legs sprawled across the sidewalk. He gulped, hastily sucking in a breath as his eyesight followed those legs up to a wet t-shirt clad, quite muscular torso with, _holy shit_ -

 

“Lad, is that a bleedin’ butterfly on your stomach?” Louis blurted out unthinkingly.

 

“Nice to meet you too, mate, I’m Harry. And yes, that is, as you so eloquently put it, a bleedin’ butterfly tattooed on my stomach,” came the chuckled reply as a hand was thrust into Louis’ vision.

 

If Louis has been drooling earlier over the taller gent’s long legs, he was surprised he didn’t collapse in delight upon taking in Harry’s plush pink lips and long, rain-soaked hair plastered to his forehead and falling haphazardly into the most beautiful green eyes he’d ever seen.

 

It wasn’t like Louis to be so instantly attracted to someone he’d just met, in fact it had only ever happened once before and had ended badly. Harry, it seemed, would be a problem for him.

 

Blushing furiously, he took the proffered hand and helped the other man to his feet, feeling immediately dwarfish in comparison as Harry stood to his full height. It wasn’t until Louis noted the water falling off of the curls he’d become so enraptured with that he realised it was still raining. “Shit, mate, lemme give you a hand with getting these boxes inside,” Louis offered, bending to pick up the fallen items.  Five minutes later, all of the boxes had made it safely into building and the two young men were soaked to their bones. In need of warming up, yet reluctant to say goodbye just yet, Louis offered Harry a cup of tea by the fire in his flat.

 

“So you own the bookstore?” Harry asked, waiting somewhat impatiently as a shivering Louis fumbled with the lock to the flat, “And you live upstairs? Doesn’t it get a bit boring having nothing to do but hope someone wants something to read each day?” It wasn’t that he didn’t read, but Harry could not comprehend how a person could enjoy spending all day surrounded by novels and hoping that someone would walk in wanting a new book.

 

Blushing lightly as he finally worked the door open, Louis responded, “Not really. I enjoy the solitude, helps me think.” As he scrambled through his dresser in an attempt to find a sweater large enough on him to fit across Harry’s rather broad shoulders he asked, “What about you, Curly?” Louis mentally slapped himself - _A nickname already? You idiot!_ “What exactly are you planning on opening up next door?”

 

A low throaty chuckle sounded behind him. “I’ll tell you,” came the reply, “but do you mind if I put the radio on? I always listen to the 7 o’clock segment.” At Louis’ nod, Harry bent over the radio, talking the whole time.

 

He was a florist, Louis learned, and rather knowledgeable in his chosen area of expertise. He listened with growing fondness as Harry rambled on about the different types of flowers and what they meant. Lilies, he’d never realised there were so many different types until Harry: Calla Lilies for beauty, Tiger Lilies for wealth and pride, Lilies of the Valley for sweetness and the return to happiness – he truly believed he could listen to Harry talk about flowers for days. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he missed Harry questioning him.

 

“Sorry, what was that, love?” he asked, reprimanding himself for the affectionate nickname.

 

“The room over there, I was just wondering what it was.”

 

Glancing over to where the curly haired lad was pointing, Louis hurriedly rushed over to shut the open door. “That’s uh, that’s nothing,” Louis mumbled, embarrassed to have been caught so unawares that he’d left it open. “I uh, I don’t really let anyone in there, ever. Sorry.”

 

“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry said softly, worried he’d upset the smaller lad.

 

Desperate for a change of topic, and feeling highly uncomfortable, Louis zoned into the radio playing in the background. “You listen to Grimshaw? Are you joking lad?” he asked as he realised exactly which station Harry had selected. “Why on earth would you listen to bloody Grimshaw’s show of all people? I’d pegged you for having a lot better taste than that!”

 

Harry only looked back at him, seemingly amused. “I get that a lot, surprisingly enough,” he chuckled. “Suppose I’m obliged to, aren’t I, considering he’s my boyfriend and all?”

 

**-hl-**

 

The next day Louis woke to the weak London sun shining through the gap in his blinds. He felt horribly about how his conversation with Harry had ended the night before, and how quickly the other man had left after Louis unintentionally insulted his boyfriend.  _I really should apologise_ , he thought, comforted by the fact that it was finally Saturday and he rarely opened weekends.

 

After a quick shower and his morning cuppa, Louis headed over to the soon-to-be florist, tugging on the sleeves of his sweater – the one Harry had worn last night – nervous to face the man with whom he’d so quickly become enamoured.

 

He chuckled as he walked in to the sight of Harry balancing precariously on an upturned crate in an attempt to string fairy-lights across the archway entrance. He cleared his throat as he walked up behind Harry, unintentionally startling the other boy. He instinctively placed his hands gently on Harry’s hips in an attempt to steady him on the crate. Once he regained his balance, Harry turned. “Thanks babe. Oh, uh, Louis,” he stuttered, flushing deeply. “Sorry, I thought you were Nick for a moment. He’s promised to come down and help me.”

 

Louis helped the blushing lad down from his perch with a smile. “No harm done, Harold. How can I help?”

 

The two began chatting aimlessly as they moved around the shop, Louis mainly assisted in carrying items, listening to Harry’s directions on the physical arrangement of the space. _Harry has a keen eye for what’s pleasing to look at,_ he noted, watching as Harry strung yet another set of lights across the window frames. He was so caught up in watching Harry’s nimble hands move, Louis didn’t notice Harry slip until he fell on top of him, knocking them both to the ground.

 

A quiet “damn” escaped Harry’s lips as his breath came back, both boys falling into fits of laughter once they realised the remaining lights had become snared in Harry’s curls.

 

“Well, well, who is this then?” came a loud drawl from behind them, effectively stopping the giggling duo.

 

“Nick,” Harry chirped, rising to his feet quickly, lights still entangled in his hair, before assisting Louis. “This is Lou, he owns the bookstore next door. I mentioned him last night, remember?”

 

“Ah, the famous Louis,” Nick said coolly, pointedly ignoring the hand Louis extended. “Yes, I heard quite enough about the tiny, pixie boy last night thank you.”

 

Harry blushed violently, elbowing Nick gently in the side. “Shut up, Nick,” he pleaded softly, unable to look Louis in the eyes.

 

Louis couldn’t entirely stop the displeasure creeping across his face as he faced off with Nick, “So this is the infamous Grimmy, huh? Somehow I thought you’d be, well, better looking to be honest.”

 

Louis grinned as Harry clapped a hand over his own mouth to hide his giggling, his green eyes twinkling with mirth. “You could do loads better than this, Haz!”

 

Harry’s chuckles cut off abruptly as Nick stepped toward Louis, hands balling slightly by his sides. “I’m warning you now, little pixie man,” Nick started, ignoring Harry’s feeble attempts to pull him back from where he was crowding in on Louis, “You do not want to get on my bad side. I will not be spoken to like that.”

 

“I’ll speak to you however I like, Grimshaw,” Louis snarked back. _What gives him the right?_ “You don’t own me.”

 

“Continue this way,” Nick growled, sneering down at Louis, “and you won’t be allowed around here at all.”

 

Harry, who had been quietly gnawing at his lower lip, stepped forward quickly at this point, placing a hand on Nick’s bicep. “C’mon babe, chill out a little, yeah?” he asked soothingly. As Nick brushed him off and continued to advance menacingly into Louis’ space, Harry stepped up firmly, squeezing between the two and placing a hand solidly on Nick’s chest.

 

Harry glared at Nick dangerously. “You don’t get to treat my friends like that, Nicholas,” he said, voice surprisingly low. “I don’t care what they do or don’t do to provoke you, but I won’t stand for you pushing away people that I want around.”

 

Glancing at Louis, who was peeking cautiously around his shoulder, he continued, “You can go back upstairs for a bit yeah? Take a break and I’ll come up soon with some lunch.”

 

He turned to Louis, double-checking that the smaller boy hadn’t been frightened off. _He didn’t look frightened though_ , Harry noted, _more annoyed than anything_. His suspicions were proven correct when, once Nick was out of earshot, Louis turned on him. “Gosh he’s an arse mate. Who the hell does he think he is? What’s he even doing here?” the smaller boy ranted.

 

“He’s my boyfriend, Louis. It doesn’t excuse his shit attitude by any means, but it does mean he’ll be around more often than not,” Harry replied lowly, torn between being mad at Nick for his actions and slightly frustrated at Louis’ comments about his boyfriend. “Here, how about you help me get these lights up, hey Lou?” Harry asked in an attempt to diffuse the tension. “I think we’re almost done.”

 

“Sure thing, Hazza!” Louis chirped, beaming widely in enthusiasm. _Day two and I’m already so in over my head for this boy. Shit._

 

**-hl-**

 

Since meeting Nick, Louis had been spending a lot more time hanging around the florist, quite often closing up the bookstore at lunchtime and spending his afternoons propped up on Harry’s workbench. He was learning more and more about the boy and how he’d come to be dating Nick, along with various tidbits about flowers. “Slice diagonally Lou. It doesn’t split them as severely and allows the water to soak up more efficiently,” was today’s lesson. He loved every minute of it. The more time he spent around Harry, though, the more he realised just how much better the younger man could do. Nick may have seemed affectionate towards Harry, holding him tightly and kissing him thoroughly on his way out to work, but Louis could see the defeat in the curly lad’s eyes as his boyfriend would glance at the mini bouquet he’d been given and drop it unceremoniously into an empty vase as he left the store.

 

It didn’t help that Louis had become well acquainted with Nick’s snarky, jealous side. He never let Harry catch him, especially after the way he’d dismissed him the first time, but Nick always found a way to make it clear to Louis that ‘Harry belongs to me. You’ve got no chance, pretty boy.’  It only further enhanced the thought in Louis’ mind that Harry deserved better. He didn’t expect Harry to fall for him, as much as he may have hoped for it, but he truly wanted to prove to Harry that he was worthy of better than Nick was offering.

 

Thus he spent every possible moment expressing his genuine interest in Harry, relishing in the way those green eyes lit up like London at night when Louis placed the freshly created flower crowns atop his head and dramatically batted his eyelashes at the giggling younger boy. There were times when Louis felt as though Harry may possibly have felt the same way about him, but he brushed it off as Harry just being friendly and affectionate in the absence of such affection from his boyfriend.

 

It was one such afternoon, after Nick had tossed a newly made flower-crown onto the counter with a, “Harry, you know I don’t like these so why do you bother?” as he left, that Louis worked out the best way to convince Harry that Nick was no good for him.

 

After quickly scribbling a note on some scrap paper, he tucked it the breast pocket of Harry’s shockingly pink work apron and, with a ruffle of his hair, dashed out the door and back into his own store.

 

_ When you’ve finished work, come over. I think it’s time to finally show you what’s behind that door. _

 

**-hl-**

 

Someone knocked on the door. Even though he'd been bouncing around the living room for the past five minutes waiting, knowing that Harry would be finishing up work, Louis still startled. Harry's curly-headed silhouette peered through the thick glass.

 

“Louis," he called, and Louis felt his legs begin to walk him towards that voice. Harry's voice was too deep. Louis would fall into it, if he wasn't careful.

 

He scrubbed his sweating palms on his jeans, and then opened the door. There was Harry, dimples and all. He smelled like flowers.

 

"Can I come in?"

 

"I dunno, what's the password?" Louis asked, and then immediately wanted to clobber himself. He always did this - snarked at people, drove them away like a dog with bared teeth. But Harry just laughed.

 

"Is it, 'you look lovely today?'"

 

"Sweet talker," Louis muttered, but he felt a treacherous blush creeping over his cheeks as he stood aside. It wasn’t uncommon for Harry to compliment him, he said nice things to everyone. _It doesn’t mean anything_ , he thought as he led Harry through to the kitchen, where a pot of hot cocoa was cooling on the stove.

 

Tea was Louis' strength; he was an Olympic tea maker. He knew how long each blend had to steep, how much milk to add, how long to let it cool before it would be perfect. But he also knew that Harry had a sweet tooth, so he poured the cocoa into two mugs and passed one over. Harry looked delighted, eyes bright in a way that made Louis' stomach squirm. Definitely worth missing out on his afternoon cuppa.

 

"Mmmm." Harry hummed in appreciation. He licked the chocolate off his lips, and Louis had to lean back against the counter and clutch his mug tight. "It's good," Harry said.

 

"Well, don't finish it all at once," Louis said, and then immediately worried that he was too bossy, too snappish. But all he got was Harry's dimples, the happy crinkles at the corners of his eyes, that radiant smile that he didn’t see nearly enough of when Nick was around.

 

"Don't worry," Harry reassured him. "This stuff is definitely worth savouring." Louis fought off another blush. He felt like a teenager again, tripping over every sweet word someone threw his way.

 

"Come on," he said, a bit abruptly. He held his mug tightly to stop his hands shaking, suddenly nervous. What was he thinking? Showing a boy his  _library_ , of all things. Stupid, so stupid, but he wanted Harry to see the best part of him. It was hard for Louis to say the things he wanted to say, so he needed his books to speak for him. He stopped outside the library door with one hand on the doorknob. Harry hovered behind him, looking curious, and Louis suddenly realised that he had no idea what he would say. It was books, though; he didn't need a script. He'd always be able to talk about his books.

 

Louis threw open the door, eliciting a " _Wow_ " as Harry followed behind him.

 

Louis had a small house and a lot of books ( _too many_ , his mother would say). This meant the library was a bit of a mess, every available surface crammed with books. The shelves were packed, with stacks littered on the floor. The coffee table was covered; paperbacks with bent spines sat on the couch. Louis loved every bit of it, and he wanted Harry to love it too.

 

"I know it's a bit messy," he said, "but there's a system to it."

 

Harry laughed at that, a deep belly laugh that got Louis' mouth curling. "I'm not surprised," he said. "Of course you've got a system. Lay it on me."

 

"When I was younger I used to organise my books alphabetically," Louis began, "like the libraries do. But you know, I realized pretty quickly how boring that was. Also, not very helpful."

 

"Alphabetical order is dead confusing," Harry said, nodding seriously.

 

"So then I tried organising by genre," Louis said. "But genre is too restrictive, so I--"

 

"Hang on," Harry said. "What do you mean genre is confusing? Seems easy enough. There's horror, and--"

 

"Sci-fi?" Louis interrupted. Harry looked startled.

 

"How'd you know I was gonna say that?"

 

"Horror and sci-fi work quite well as genres because they're unique," Louis said, "but then you get into things like the gothic. Is it horror or isn't it? Is  _Frankenstein_  a horror novel or a science-fiction novel?"

 

"Umm… horror?" Harry guessed. "Sorry, I haven't read it since school."

 

Louis grinned. "I've never read it at all," he admitted. "I just absorbed the story through cultural osmosis, I think. But if it is a horror story, then why?"

 

"There's a monster in it," Harry suggested.

 

"But who is the monster?" Louis asked. "The creature is a murderer, but he also says, 'Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me Man?' It's not his fault he was made out of corpses and sheep's eyeballs stitched together."

 

Harry winced. "Ugh, yeah. Okay, so, the … evil scientist guy is the monster?"

 

"Prometheus unbound," Louis said, musing upon the words. He loved that title. He loved that Mary Shelley had written a story about a scientist, and then likened him to a Greek god reborn. Science could be God unbound, or man fallen. She was gutsy, that Mary Shelley was. Young and clever and full of lightning.

 

He didn't notice Harry watching him, a small smile settled on his face.

 

"Yes, Frankenstein is also a kind of monster. He abandons his creation, his child. He marries his adopted sister, he is a selfish and narcissistic grave robber, and he is completely, absolutely human. The man who made the monster; the God who made the man. So where does that leave us?"

 

"I dunno," Harry said, after a small pause. It startled a laugh out of Louis.

 

"Me neither, mate," he said. "Me neither. Maybe I should read the book, hey?"

 

Harry looked around the crowded room. "I bet it's in here somewhere."

 

"Leftmost bookcase, fourth shelf from the bottom." Louis gestured vaguely. His chocolate had gone cold, so he left it on a nearby stack (where it would sit for days until he finally ran out of mugs and had to scrounge it up) and wandered around, touching his fingers to the spines every now and then.

 

"I couldn't organise by genre," he said. "It would be too messy;  _Frankenstein_  would never be in the right place."

 

"So why's it there?" Harry asked. Louis turned to look at him. Harry was leaning casually against the wall, long legs stretched in front of him, a bit of cocoa drying on his mouth. _Sweetest boy in the world._

 

"Easy," he said. "That's the 'classics I should read but haven't' shelf." Harry laughed, and Louis felt it like summer in his chest.

 

"Reckon all my books belong on that shelf," he said.

 

"Hey, you've read Frankenstein, at least," Louis reminded him, and Harry shrugged. He knocked his knuckles against the bookcase next to him.

 

"And this one?" he asked. Louis didn't even need to glance through the titles.

 

"Those are my most important books," he said. Harry ran one long finger along the spines, head cocked sideways as he read. It wasn't adorable. It  _wasn't_. Harry plucked one from the shelf.

 

"Harry Potter?" he asked.

 

“That, there, is a work of art, young Styles. No author ever effectively captured and consumed me in a series as well as Rowling.”

 

Harry smiled at older man, urging him to continue. _It’s fascinating to watch someone talk about their passion_ , he thought, although he truly didn’t believe he looked half as wonderful talking about flowers as Lou did about books. Louis had bounded across the room and picked up the Deathly Hallows. “Now, it’s hard to pick a favourite in the Potter series,” Louis rambled, “but if I had to, it would be the final book. Rowling just does such justice to the characters, especially Snape and McGonagall.”

 

Louis stopped for a moment looking at Harry thoughtfully, “You have read Harry Potter, right?”

 

A chuckle and a nod later, he continued, “Where do I even start? Professor McGonagall – you always knew that she was an incredible witch – Transfiguration professor, Order of the Phoenix member, Dumbledore’s right-hand essentially, but this final book just brings her out in all her fighting glory, defending Hogwarts and Harry. And Snape, the man is incredible…”

 

Louis continued talking animatedly about the novel, but Harry was paying more attention to the boy’s features than the words coming from his mouth. He got lost in the way Louis’ eyes shone with excitement (and possibly some tears through the explanation of Severus Snape). It was like Harry was seeing him in a new light, that slight tug in his belly that always seemed to appear around Louis strengthening forcefully and suddenly. He’d never before realized just how well defined the man’s cheekbones were, or just how long the eyelashes were that framed those beautiful blue eyes, and that mouth, well that was an entire story in and of itself.

 

Something came over Harry, watching the other man talk about this book, and he couldn’t control his own body as he reached over and plucked the novel from Louis’ hands. He heard Louis sharp intake of breath as Harry crowded him back against a bookshelf. He slowly leaned in, marvelling in the way Louis’ lashes fluttered shut in anticipation. It was only when his knuckles gently grazed the other boy’s cheek and Louis leaned into his touch that Harry snapped back to reality.

 

He was on the other side of the room in a heartbeat, bracing himself against the bookshelf as he inhaled in short, shallow breaths. “Lou, oh god. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he gasped between breaths. “I don’t know why I did that. I, I, I’m dating Nick. Even if I wanted something to happen, which I don’t, or maybe I do, I don’t know. Ugh, that’s beside the point, it couldn’t, it can’t. Oh god.”

 

Louis clutched at the cabinet next to him, shocked. “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it Haz,” his said, attempting to comfort Harry even as his mind raced.

 

“Maybe we should leave it at this for the night, hmm?” Louis asked, guiding Harry out of the library by the bicep. As he opened the front door, he pulled out the book from his side table. “This is one of my favourites. Give it a shot yeah?” he asked, pressing the book into Harry’s palm.

**-hl-**

 

Harry twisted wire around stems, once, twice,  _pulled_  - and the wire bit hard into his palms. He tossed the bundle aside and picked up another, staring critically at the colours, the shape of the petals. Tucked a rose into the middle, and then again. One twist, two twist, the pain, and done. And then again.

 

By the time Nick came in, Harry's palms were smarting. He had a wicked welt on his right index finger, which he supposed he deserved for throwing his temper around. Honestly, he deserved to be in a bit of a temper right now because he'd nearly, he'd nearly-

 

Harry sighed, thunking his forehead onto the countertop. When he turned his head sideways, he saw Nick staring critically at his stack of flowers.  _Shut the fuck up_ , he thought, ungraciously. But then Nick walked over and rubbed gently at his shoulders and Harry relaxed, feeling slightly mollified by the attention. He was just having a bad day, that's all. Maybe all this with him and Nick, maybe it had all just been one bad day after another. 

 

 _For a whole year?_ Said a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lou's.  _That's a hell of a hat trick_.

 

"Oi," Nick said, suddenly. "What's this then?"

 

Harry straightened up. Nick was holding the book Louis had given him,  _A Room With a View_. He remembered Louis' hands brushing through the pages, like they'd fallen open just for him, saying,  _let yourself go. Pull out from the depths those thoughts that you do not understand, and spread them out in the sunlight and know the meaning of them_ , and for one wild moment Harry almost tore it out of Nick's hands. Those words belonged to him and Lou, they were private.

 

"Lou loves that book," he said. Even to himself, he sounded defensive. "He gave it to me, to read."

 

"The book is for reading? Fancy that," Nick said, and Harry tried to flatten out his scowl. He was just having a bad day. But then that voice again:  _actually it was a bloody brilliant day until you realised that you're not allowed to ki--_.

 

"Shut up," Harry said, and snatched the book back. He took a step back from Nick and his familiar hands. "Look, I'm just having a really ... a really bad day today. I'm just gonna head upstairs and read this, have a quiet night in."

 

"No!" Nick said, and Harry felt his shoulders droop. He knew that voice. It was Nick's getting-his-way voice, which meant that Harry was in for hours of complaining and weeks of guilt-tripping if he didn't go along with whatever Nick was about to ask. "It's only," Nick began, "I've gotten us tickets to this premier, you see, and I need you there with me."

 

"You need me?" Harry said. He waited for the fondness to come, waited for that feeling of partnership, of worth Nick was looking at him, expectant. He'd already dressed, Harry noticed. He hadn't waited to ask.

 

"Okay, okay," Harry said. He was too tired for a fight tonight. "Just let me get dressed and put this away."

 

"Right," Nick said, and that sarcastic radio-jockey drawl was back in his voice. "Mustn't let Lou's book get damaged, right?" Harry gritted his teeth and turned to walk into the bedroom. "Oh, and Harry?" Nick called after him. "Wear the grey jacket with the bow-tie. And a black sweater, white shirt."

 

Harry slammed the door behind him.

 

Three hours later and Harry just wanted to go home. Well, to be completely honest, he wanted to see Louis. The blue-eyed man hadn’t dropped in this afternoon, which Harry could only assume was due to his stupidity the night before. Part of him needed to see Lou, to apologise to him even though all he really wanted to do was crowd in on him and overwhelm the older man with kisses. And yet, Harry was stuck sitting in a back row of a ridiculous premiere for who knows what as Nick gallivanted up at the front with all of his radio friends.

 

‘ _I need you’_ the words played themselves back in Harry’s mind. _Nick doesn’t need me_ , he realised suddenly. Nick hadn’t needed him for a long time. It wasn’t exactly an uncomfortable realisation for Harry, it was more of an acceptance of a fact that he’d secretly known for a very long time. He mulled over his thoughts through the rest of the premiere, flickering from Nick in the early days of their relationship, to Nick now, to what he’d managed to gather of Louis’ previous relationships and why the man was so adamant that Harry and Nick weren’t right for each other. It was as if the penny dropped right there for Harry. _‘If you’re happy with him, then I’m happy for you Haz,’_ Louis had said only days earlier, _‘but he doesn’t treat you right, and I think you know it.’_ He only wished that he had realised this earlier.

 

**-hl-**

 

The premiere was over and Harry was exhausted, but he didn't feel like going to bed. Nick was in there, and right now Harry really needed the space to think. He flipped through Lou's book, noticing that Lou had written neat little comments in the margins, the pencil almost faded with age. He read idly through the bits that Lou had underlined, too sleepy to properly understand the plot or keep the characters straight. But then he stopped, flipped back a page.

_"This desire to govern a woman -- it lies very deep, and men and women must fight it together.... But I do love you surely in a better way than he does." He thought. "Yes - really in a better way. I want you to have your own thoughts even when I hold you in my arms."_

 

The last line had been underlined in blue pen. Harry pressed his fingertips to it, and then, feeling stupid even as he did it, his nose. Fresh ink. Fresh blue pen in the book that Lou had given to him.  _I want you to have your own thoughts even when I hold you in my arms_.

 

Suddenly, Harry felt desperately close to tears.  _Oh, Lou_ , he thought. He wanted to be with Louis very badly, wanted to march over and bang the door down, crawl into bed and get a hug, a kiss, a mug of tea. Instead he climbed slowly to his feet and trudged up the stairs. The book was dangling from one hand when he pushed the door open. Nick was a dark shadow, silhouetted against the open window. He stirred and sat up, rubbing at his eyes. There are types of love, Harry realised. You can love me but someone else can ( _might?_ ) love me better.

 

"Coming to bed, babe?" Nick asked, voice thick with sleep.

 

"No," Harry said. He suddenly felt very sure of himself, for the first time all year. "We need to talk."

 

**-hl-**

 

It was a nearly two weeks after the ‘almost kiss that never happened’ as Louis had dubbed it, and he still hadn’t heard from Harry. He hadn’t opened the store in that time, choosing instead to stay holed up in his private library, books strewn all over the place as he tried to find one he could read without somehow relating it back to Harry.

 

He was worried, that was the problem. He’d assumed that Harry would need some space after the incident. However, when he hadn’t heard from him by the end of the second day, Louis had retreated in upon himself, slowly becoming consumed with self-doubt. He was terrified that giving Harry the book had made things worse. If Harry had read it, there was a very high chance that he would’ve caught on to how Louis felt for him, and considering the unlikelihood of Harry returning those feelings it was no wonder the boy was avoiding him like the plague. He picked up the nearest book, hoping to lose himself in the pages and forget his problems for the time being.

 

Louis caught sight of the title, _Prometheus Unbound_ , and it sparked something in him, a remembrance of something Harry had once said about working in a florist. “The thing with giving someone flowers,” he’d said, “is that you are essentially facing the issue head on. Whether it be a sympathy bouquet, or a declaration of love, you can express how you are feeling directly and deal with it instead of beating around the bush.”

 

It was this thought that drove Louis to dart down the stairs and into the florist without so much as stopping to put shoes on. “Harry,” he called, startling the boy where he was binding roses at the counter, “I need to talk to you.”

 

Harry nodded, gesturing toward the stockroom at the back. Louis walked in, listening to Harry follow behind him. Once he’d heard the door shut behind them, he turned to face Harry, intent on demanding why exactly Harry had been ignoring him. The sight of dark circles under Harry’s eyes, though, stopped him from being too harsh.

 

“What have I done Harry? I need to know what I’ve done to make it like this. We used to talk every single day for hours, and now, well you haven’t spoken to me in over two weeks,” Louis could hear the slight whine in his voice, but couldn’t bring himself to care. “I need to know what I’ve done to hurt you or upset you so much. I need to know what it was the drove you away, that is making you unable to look me in the eye even now. I need to know so that I can fix it.” His voice broke as the sobs started coming uncontrollably and he rambled on past Harry’s shocked intake of breath. “I thought you needed space, and I thought that I could give you that, but I can’t. You’re too important to me; I can’t let anything ruin our friendship. I just can’t handle the thought of you being mad at me, especially when I don’t know what I’ve done. But whatever it is, Haz, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done but I’m sorry.”

 

He crumpled to the floor, overcome with emotion and now surrounded by flowers that he couldn’t remember the meanings of. Within seconds, Harry was on the floor in front of him. “Lou,” it came out as a plea. “Shit. Lou, darling, please look at me. You haven’t done anything wrong. Please, please don’t think this is your fault. If anything it’s all mine. Oh god, Lou, my darling, I’m so sorry, please look at me.”

Louis looked up at Harry then, and the confusion and pain behind his watery eyes proved too much for the younger lad to handle. He crashed their lips together, one rough, calloused hand coming up to cup the delicate jaw while the other wrapped around the smaller boys back and pulled him close. It wasn’t a gentle kiss, it was rough and full of desperation, and both boys pulled back gasping for air.

 

Louis felt as though his body was on fire, but reality quickly crept in. “Harry,” he gasped softly, “we can’t. You’re with Nick.” He shied away from the taller boys touch, scrambling to his feet and knocking over a collection of daffodils in the process.

 

Harry stood quickly, blocking Louis’ exit. “Lou,” he whispered softly. “Two weeks ago you said to me, ‘spread your thoughts out in the sunlight and know the meaning of them,’ and everything sort of clicked. Nick and I are over. Honestly, I think it’s been over for a long time, but it took me so long to realise. I’d never known anything other than Nick, we’d been together six years, since I was in the tenth grade, and it was everything I thought love was. But then I met you.” Louis looked dumbfounded as Harry continued, “You, this tiny little being absolutely bursting with love for your books, for your tea, and, although I didn’t realise until recently, for me. People have always told me that there were many different types of love, that some are truer than others, but you were the first to show it to me. Nick, he took me for granted, expected too much and gave too little in return. You, all you’ve ever wanted was for me to be happy, because you love me. You don’t need to deny it,” he said, shushing Louis’ protests, “Nick had me trapped, doing everything I could to please him. You, darling, you let me be free. You open me up to the surrounding world. ‘ _I want you to have your own thoughts even when I hold you in my arms_.’” Harry smiled down at the smaller boy who had gone still in his arms, “I want that too.”

 

That was all it took for Louis to surge up on the balls of his feet, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck and pulling the boy down for a kiss much less messy and more tender, but full of as much love and passion as their first. They kissed as though they were making up for lost time, which in a sense they were. They pulled back, foreheads resting against one another gently, and Louis caught sight of something out of his peripheral vision. Never breaking eye contact, he reached out to his left, collecting a single flower from the bunch. He presented it to Harry, “A single red tulip, because you’ve told me red tulips are a declaration of love, and I love you so much Harry Styles.”

 

Harry reached behind the smaller boy and plucked two flowers from their buckets. “Two for you my love. The first is a red camellia, for you are a flame in my heart. The second is a Lily of the Valley. Do you recall the meaning behind this one, Lou?” he asked, smiling down at the boy in front of him.

 

“It was return to happiness, wasn’t it?”

“That is one meaning, yes,” Harry responded, pecking the smaller boy on the lips gently, “and while it could be used to mean that now, I’m going to go with its other meaning.”

 

At Louis’ inquisitive glance Harry whispered, “It means, you’ve made my life complete, because I love you too, Louis Tomlinson, and I don’t plan to ever let you go.”

 

 

**-Epilogue-**

Singing quietly to himself, Louis bustled around the kitchenette to make sure everything was prepared for dinner. He had candles lit on the table, the most recent bouquet of flowers from Harry propped in a vase in the centre, cutlery and glass set out delicately in their correct positions, and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket. He’d just started dishing up dinner when he heard the key turn in the front door. Glancing at the clock, he grinned. _Always so prompt._ Minutes later he felt the body of his fiancé pressed up against his back, dirt streaked hands sneaking around his waist as Harry nuzzled into the back of his neck.

 

“Something smells delicious,” Harry mumbled. Craning his neck around to greet his love with a tender kiss, Louis replied, “Go wash up love, dinner will be ready when you’re done.”

 

“Aren’t I lucky _Jade’s Kitchen_ delivers,” Harry remarked cheekily, ducking around the snap of the tea towel Louis offered in return.

 

“You’re just lucky to be getting fed, aren’t you sweetheart?”

 

Harry just chuckled as he washed his face and hands, making himself presentable for the feast Louis had bought them.

 

An hour and many stories about the days happenings later, both men were pleasantly satisfied and slightly beyond tipsy. Slow dancing around their small living room and giggling softly, Louis looked up at Harry and smiled fondly. He couldn’t believe it had already been four years of being with this wonderful man, and that they only eight months until their wedding. _I could do this forever. I get to do this forever, officially,_ he thought, listening to Harry’s heart beat softly through his sweater.

 

The peaceful moment was shattered by the piercing sound of Harry’s phone ringing. Reluctantly the boys separated as Harry glanced at his phone. “It’s Gem,” he gasped nervously, “her appointment was tonight.”

 

He quickly answered, chatting with his sister and pacing. The nerves took hold of Louis as well. He stood stock still, chewing his lip, hands clutched tightly together.

 

A few short minutes later an ashen-faced Harry hung up and turned to face Louis, head bowed.

 

“Haz?” Louis asked softly, inching towards the taller man.

 

“It worked, Lou,” came the quiet response.

 

At the lack of reply, Harry looked up at Louis, a small smile creeping over his face soon turning into a full-fledged grin. He bounded across the room, sweeping the smaller man up in his arms and kissing him as though his life depended on it. He pulled back still beaming. “Lou, darling, it worked. It’s happening. Gemma’s pregnant. We’re going to be Daddies.”

 

 _Nothing can beat this,_ Louis thought as he kissed his fiancé. If only he knew how happy he would be to be proven wrong.

 

 

**THE END.**

 

 

**Thank You:**

To [Suzie](http://rowbacktospain.tumblr.com/) for spending hours with me in the Food Court helping me plot this out and work out exactly where I was going with it. Thank you for questioning my motives and reason for each occurrence/characterisation and your constant support. Thank you for sharing your knowledge of both  _Prometheus Unbound_ and  _Room with a View_ and for the time you put into researching florist related things. You're an honest angel!

To [Kathleen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/hypocorism/pseuds/hypocorism) for beta-ing this work and making those small grammatical edits that have seriously improved the quality of it. You're a lifesaver honestly!


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